Page 42 of Sweeper
“Congratulations on the jingle,” I say quietly.
“Thank you. It’s silly but also kind of exciting to actually make decent money at it.” She turns her stunning blue eyes to me. “And I’m desperately trying to forget the fact that I might be hearing my voice on the telly sometime. Maybe even after one of your football matches.”
“That’s wicked.” I lift my brows with interest. “With a voice like yours, you should be singing on stages.”
“Pass.” She cringes. “Not all of us are meant for the spotlight.” She hits me with a dazzling smile and adds, “Hot new American footballer takes Premier League by storm. Now that’s a headline.”
I bark out a laugh. “Did you just call me hot?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s an expression.”
“It’s a compliment.” I waggle my brows. “And I could give the very same one to you. You look stunning tonight.”
Our eyes lock, and the smile on her face falls as her gaze dips to my lips. The look in her eye is unmistakable, and I have cause to hope that I might pull home two W’s tonight.
Daphney
Operation: Shag the Slutty Footballer is in full effect.
This is a ridiculous plan, which obviously means it came from Phoebe. After telling her all about my kiss with Zander and his blatant proposition, she was certain that an affair with a slutty footballer was exactly what I needed to forget about Rex for good. Which means my quiet evening of sitting at home in my pajamas to watch the Bethnal Green match on my telly was thwarted when she burst into my flat and yelled, “Tart up, we’re going out!”
I actually was a bit relieved for the assistance because I wasn’t sure what my next move with Zander would be. I just knew that ever since that kiss, well, honestly, ever since he arrived in London, I have not stopped thinking about him. Zander Williams gets under my skin like no other bloke. I’m quite certain he’s ninety percent spoiled man-child and ten percent manwhore.
However, I’m twenty-six, single, and living next door to a man who may very well be my muse—not that I wouldevertell him that. His bloody ego wouldn’t fit under that stupid backward cap he always wears. But it’s undeniable that the kiss I shared with Zander, dysfunctional as it might be, ignited something inside me. It’s as if it awakened a part of me that had been sleeping ever since Rex. Maybe even before Rex. I’m keen to explore that part of me, even if it is a bit outside of my comfort zone.
Plus, look what happened after I stepped out of my box and snogged him in the hallway. I finished my jingle, submitted it to Drake, got a rave review, and made ten thousand pounds.
All signs are pointing to…live a little, Daphney Clarke!
Phoebe’s plan for tonight was to hunker down with drinks at Old George and hope for a Zander sighting. The Harris family often frequents the pub after a home match. It was the twin’s wives’, Indie’s and Belle’s, favorite hangout when they worked at the same hospital together, and I guess it was sort of claimed as a Harris hangout after that. Hubert reminds the patrons to give the footballers space or they will be asked to leave, so everyone plays it pretty cool. And after how well Zander and Booker played on the pitch, I had a feeling Booker might drag him here.
I knew they’d show up, yet still, my heart leaped up into my throat when I spotted him walking over to our place on the corner picnic table. He looked so fit in his tight jeans and gray long-sleeved top peeked out from his puffy black coat. His shaggy brown hair was tucked under that American baseball cap he’s always wearing, but thankfully, it was turned backward to reveal his bright and alive eyes. He is most likely still riding a high from their big win. He played a perfect game, and while I greatly admired how he looked on the telly in his football kit, the lace-up tobacco leather boots he’s wearing tonight are giving me lumberjack fantasies that have me squirming in my seat.
So, the plan was first to run into Zander.Check.
Next, I was to flirt with him and not yell at him for something annoying he may have done in the past twenty-four hours. That was tricky because his alarm went off four times this morning, but I do have some flirting capabilities left inside me. Therefore, flirting mission accomplished.Check, check.
The rest of the night, I was to play it cool as we all ate and drank and enjoyed the band that returned to the stage after my solo performance. They sound incredible, and between the moonlight, the firelight, and the air of possibility, my body feels more alive than it has in ages.
Booker’s wife, Poppy; Tanner’s wife, Belle; and Roan DeWalt’s wife, Allie, the Harris Brother’s cousin who moved here from America a few years ago, all joined us at the pub to celebrate the win tonight as well, so it’s a proper party at Old George. I see most of this lot at the weekly Sunday dinners at Vaughn’s house, but watching them interact without their children and letting off some steam is another story altogether.
All the couples are out on the dance floor, completely enamored with each other, dancing in their own unique ways. Tanner, like a child while Belle is his scolding mother. Booker and Poppy are slow dancing to a fast song. And Roan is spinning Allie around like a pro. It’s adorable.
Phoebe dances beside me and nudges me in the ribs. “Don’t get any bright ideas.”
“With regard to?” I ask, rubbing the tender spot she hit.
“The Harris Brothers are the exception, not the rule.” Her green eyes sparkle from the nearby firelight as she wiggles her hips to the music.
“I don’t know what you’re going on about.” I grab Phoebe and force her to look at me.
She pins me with a serious look that’s a rare sighting on her. “Footballers are slags. All of them. Even the Harris men were slags in their time.”
“Okay…” My face has to be the picture of confusion because I’m not following what she’s going on about.
“Zander Williams is no Harris Brother,” she states through clenched teeth. “He’s Rex 2.0. So don’t think you can turn him into a boyfriend, okay? Zander is for fun, not for the future.”
“I know that.” I step back, my body tense with annoyance at the mention of Rex. “Can we get to a point in my life when all signs don’t lead back to Rex Carmichael please?”
